The Red Chest
by Suikorin
Summary: Year 2052 Julius has everything. He is a family man with money, a loving wife, and three children who claim that there are more members to their household than just five.
1. Chapter 1

AN: Typically, I don't like writing stories with a bunch of original characters. People don't really care for original characters because this is fandom. You write about the characters from the game! But this inspiration wouldn't go away...

And I have actual night scares too...

Okay, done with my rant. Oh with the Story

The Red Chest

Chapter 1

Year 2052

"Julius!" yelled Yvett.

Julius nearly jumped out of his large chair. Even after sixteen years of marriage, he still had not learned to shut out his wife's voice.

"What is it honey," said Julius in a tiny voice, settling back in his tan color comfy chair, hoping that she would not hear him and think that he was out or something. He was happily flipping through four hundred channels of bad TV programming anyways.

"Julius!" Yvett's call was even louder.

A little miffed, Julius yelled back "WHAT!" He really wanted see what channel two-hundred-forty-two had. He did fork over his wallet to pay for satellite TV.

"Get your ass up here!" she called loud enough to make the house shake a little.

"WHY?" Julius had seen channel two-hundred-forty-two and saw some home shopping stuff he didn't want anyways. Now his new target was channel three hundred. He really wanted to delay whatever Yvett had in store for him.

There were stomping sounds. Yvett, a short woman with a handsome face and short dark brown hair, galumphed down the stairs, glaring at her indolent husband with agitated hazel eyes.

Julius turned and met his wife's glare with his own innocent blue eyes. He attempted his most cherubic smile, the one he used to give to his own mother when she found out that he had been skipping school. Unfortunately, his mother never bought the cute looks. Neither did his wife, it seems.

"Julius!" began Yvett imperiously. "How many times have you promised me that you would clean out the attic?"

"Um..." Julius's mind was racing as fast as it could. He recalled that Yvett said something about it at least a dozen times during the past year. Yvett always wanted to make the house a little cleaner, to store some of the items that she did not want to display or did not use anymore, but still wished to keep. She had already used up the spare warehouse and the basement. Now she was ready to utilize the attic. Except the attic was filled with random things. Stuff that Julius's relatives had left for storage. But the majority was grandpa Julian's since he left a lot of strange random stuff when he died two years ago. "I don't know?" answered Julius pathetically.

"I don't know?" repeated Yvett, the pitch of her voice rising. "How the hell could you not know when I reminded you verbally twice a day. "Dear. You need to clean out the attic." That's all I said. Once in the morning, then once in the afternoon! I told you before we went to bed last night. I told you after we read a story to our daughter..."

Julius winced as Yvett voice reached new heights in pitch with each new sentence. He really could not do anything to stop her. He married Yvett because her fiery temper had attracted him. (That and he had one too many drinks one night...) She could really give a hurtful retort that cut deep into the souls of those she disliked. But her other extreme was equally effective. She cried the moment he told her that he "liked her.' She was not afraid of expressing her feelings, positive and negative alike and Julius was oddly charmed by that. Now he regretted that attraction.

"Mama? Papa?" came the sweet voice of their daughter Erin. She was an adorable little girl with red hair and hazel eyes of her mother. She was only six years old, wore a pink sleeping gown, a brown teddy bear clutched in her arms, and a tired look on her face. She came halfway down the stairs and sat on the steps. She looked tiredly through the elegant railing trim. "What are you arguing about?"

Yvett's constrained look immedately melted and a mask of the most agreeable, comely mother replaced her agitation. "Oh no. Honey. We aren't arguing," said Yvett. "We are..." she stopped to think of a good word. "discussing."

"Oh," said Erin, though her features suggested that she did not exactly believe her mother's words.

This time, another child came down. He stopped right on the bottom of the steps. This one was eleven years old, a boy with dark brown hair that was once as red as his younger sister Erin's hair. He rubbed his pale blue eyes a little, trying to unblur the world. "What's going on here," he said sleepily.

"Nothing Zach. Go back to sleep," said Julius while giving a meaningful look at his wife. They were loud people (well, more his wife than him) and he regretted that he had gotten his children's attention in a spot like this.

"But you two were clearly fighting." said Zach in a slightly fearful voice. He hated it when his folks were fighting. There was a tension in the air that made him afraid. Probably because the kids he knew from school had parents that started fighting and ended up splitting apart.

"No, we were not honey," denied Yvett, though her voice had a dangerous edge to it.

"Yo. Can you two keep it down in there?" came another voice. This one was deeper and the speaker lumbered heavily down the stairs. He stopped halfway between Erin and Zach. His tone was similar to Yvett's, though much less irritated, just sleepy.

"Juste! When did you get home?" asked Julius, wanting to take all attention as far away from himself and the subject of Yvett's ire. Erin and Zach were too young for Yvett's scoldings, but Juste was just at the age when people could start calling him a 'man,' and therefore, he had to endure his mother's beratings.

Juste, Yvett and Julius's eldest son had the same groggy look as his two younger siblings. Unlike the darker coloring of his siblings however, he had naturally bleached white hair, that was nearly halfway down to the small of his back when not tied. His eyes were a really light brown, almost yellow, a shade lighter than Zach's blue eyes.

It was a funny thing really, since Juste's looks had Julius questioning the fidelity of his wife. That question had earned Julius a really hard whack on the cheek and a month of nightly exile to the couch . Grandpa Julian never questioned Yvett though, and badgered the couple into naming the newborn Juste; probably so that they could have a catchy phrase for their trio, "the three Js." Grandpas had always been into the possibility of a rock band.

"When did I get home?" repeated Juste sleepily. He seemed to be formulating an answer while unconsciously bent down to pick up his little sister. "I don't quite remember."

Erin gave Juste no trouble since she was used to her older brother picking her up. She encircled her arms around her brother, taking care not to drop her dolly.

"Are you being smart with your father, young man?" said Yvett tartly. "You weren't out with a girl were you?" Her son's exotic looks and eerily athletic tendencies had always earned him admiration from the giggling girls at school. And often to Yvett's dismay, Juste returned those admirations.

Julius did not help either. He was actually proud that his son had gained so much attention. Julius's only failure was that he mentioned it over the dinner table, thus condemning the family to a month of boiled spinach.

No one really hated spinach that much, except Juste. That teenager hated spinach with unjustified passion for some odd reason. He said that Pop-eye, the totting sailor had somehow tramatized him at an early age; thus, he hated spinach.

"Mom," Juste began, repressing the urge to yawn. He just had some breath causing food for dinner and would rather not offend his little sister with it. He walked down and grabbed Zach's hand, preparing to taking his younger siblings up the stairs back to bed. "I am too tired to be smart with you." At the end of that sentence, he yawned loudly, turning his face toward his parents.

Julius almost puked at the smell of what was probably the strongest garlic he ever encountered. Yvett waved the air around her.

"So where were you?" demanded Yvett. "You are usually a night owl."

"Studying, mom," said Juste a bit planatively. "I do have to go to college at some point. And I know you'll just nag me to death like you do to pops if I don't go."

Yvett was clearly taken back by her son's responsible response. She was pleased that her son did listen to her, but she was annoyed that he had put it in such a negative tone. She supposed that he had to be doing _some_ studying to win the Latin contest."Well, put Erin and Zach to sleep now," commanded Yvett. "They're up way past their bedtime."

"That's what I'm going to do," said Juste, talking down the steps to retrieve Zach. He was used to taking care of his younger siblings. He was ten years older than Erin, and five years older than Zach. He was at an age when Yvett considered him the replacement babysitter. And as long as Yvett never bothered him with babysitting when he had a date, everything was okay.

"Oh. By the way!" called Yvett. "Since it's Saturday tomorrow, I want you to help your father clean out the attic tomorrow."

At her announcement, Juste stooped his ascent up the stairs. He backtracked, his groggy eyes suddenly not so groggy. "What?"

His siblings seemed to freeze also, looking not as sleepy as before. Erin cluched Juste's neck tighter. Zach squeezed Juste's hand harder.

"Clean out the attic," said Yvett clearly. "I want junk thrown out."

Juste stared at his mother with his mouth slightly agape. It was a strange expression because Yvett could only recall one time when her son had given her that expression. Then Juste delivered his counter ultimatum. "No mom. I am not going into the attic. I will even eat boiled spinach for a year if I have to. But I am not going into the attic."

Yvett frowned. Usually Juste was a really good boy who did all the chores without complaint. "Why is that? You used to play in it all the time when you were a kid," asked Yvett.

Juste gave his mother a hard look.

Nervously, Zach spoke up.

"Mama. The attic is haunted."

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Suikorin


	2. Beginning

I realized that Julius probably did not have any family that he knows of, but pretend that he does and knows the numerous scions of Leon Belmont.

Chapter 2: Beginning

7 Years ago, in 2044

Illegal or no, parents do leave their children unattended from time to time. This was particularly true for a household somewhere smack dead in the middle of Europe in a puny country called Romania...Well, not exactly puny or in the middle, it was medium sized and a little to the right if South was pointing to the bottom, but this was the place that Juste had came to live when he was about nine.

Juste wrinkled his nose and tilted his head at the three story house. Did everything have to be so tall and look so menacing? Even the stinking door knob was at his eye level and he was already nine years old! He wasn't a boy anymore!

"Oh, it's lovely Julius!" squealed his mother, Yvett. She gazed happily on the front yard dotted with colorful flowers and beautiful landscaping. The sun was high up in the sky, casting a favorable warm glow.

The house was three stories tall, with a basement and an accessible attic. It had a deep red roof. The walls were painted a pleasant beige. There was about a three foot tall white picket fence around the house. Towering ancient oak trees with lovely ferns attached at the branch joints, shading a great part of the yard. The garage was large, capable of housing six cars. The front porch had stone steps, and sturdy-looking rocking chairs and a lover swing set hung from the ceiling. The neighbors to their left seemed like a comely couple too, with similarly large well-kept house and three healthy children. The neighbors to their right seemed to be some kindly old people, retired from work, free to pursue their wholesome pottery hobby.

"I think Juste and Zach will like this place also," gushed Yvett. The place was not too noisy. She could hear free laughter from the neighboring children. The joggers, the people from around the neighborhood, smiled as they passed by. This place was peaceful, and felt safe. Yes, this would be the perfect place to raise her children.

_"No. This place looks scary,"_ thought Juste. The spiraling oaks twisted like a man in agony. Its branches were like a writhing creature clawing for release. The picket fences with pinpoint tips were like wooden stakes painted white. The garage was dark and cavernous, like a beast ready to devour children. His neighbors...

Juste did not know if his mother had noticed, but the neighbors to their left, the one with a family, had this large black hound the size of a grown werewolf. And to him, it seemed like the dog was chasing after the children. The neighbors to their right looked like walking corpses. Their thinned hair, spotted skin, and wild bulging black eyes scowled at their new neighbors in contempt for disturbing their well-deserved deathly silence.

But, Juste kept his opinions to himself. He had learned at a fairly early age that he should hold his tongue whenever his mother was around. Not doing so usually earned him some quality time with a wall.

Zach, Juste's little brother, however, was not as smart. He made an expression that could only be interpreted as...fearful? At any rate, he opened his mouth. "Juste...I don't think I'll like it here...It's kinda...oof!"

Juste covered his little brother's mouth as quickly as he could. "Don't let mom hear!" he whispered urgently. It probably wouldn't do either of them good if one of the playmates were sentenced to the corner. Mother never liked opinions that differed from hers.

All of the sudden, the hairs on Juste's neck prickled. He felt as if some icy cold hand just touched him. He looked around, knowing that there was no one there but his senses told him otherwise. There was something about this place that gave him the creeps.

"And it's fully furnished," said Julius proudly. He had shaved off his beard at the request of his wife. He kept his long hair though, even if it gave him a roguish look. "My aunt used to have this place for rent by students and young couples. She was a good landlord and kept everything in proper working order. When she heard that we were looking for a house to live, she had this place renovated while we waited on our residence transfer." He turned to look at her. "Want to be the first to enter in two years?"

Yvett smiled widely. Life had not been easy with Julius, since his odd jobs had him out of the country often. He certainly made enough money, compared to her accounting work. They were a fairly well-off couple, lacking no wants. But that financial security came at the price of time. They had a talk, and Yvett decided to quit her regular day job and have a part-time job so she could run domestic tasks at leisure. Julius decided to utilize one of his many inheritance houses. Aunt Giselle was called and a house was prepared.

"Of course, dear," she said, reverting to sweet names when she actually felt agreeable. "Let's go in."

"Oh joy..." muttered Juste to himself. He suppressed the oncoming shivers as best as he could. He glanced upward again, having that feeling of being watched.

There, by the third floor window, was a dark shape. It was cloudy, like a swarm of gnats, and it stared at him with red eyes. Knobby hands clutched the curtains as if it wanted to tear it all down. The shape stayed there for three seconds, then disappeared. The curtains billowed like tattered sailing masts.

Juste blinked, not sure if he actually saw that. He rubbed his eyes and looked again.

The curtains were still moving...

"Pops," called Juste still looking up. "Is there anyone inside?" he asked in a mousy voice. He was shivering slightly.

"No," answered Julius. "Your Great Aunt Giselle said that there had been no one in the house since she had it redone two years ago."

"Then why are the curtains moving?" Juste pointed to the same window where he saw the dark shape.

Julius looked up.

"Oh. The window is open," observed Julius.

Juste looked again. Sure enough, the window was open. The curtains was just fluttering in the wind.

The feeling of being watched was still there...

"Now. This house should have six bedrooms and four bathrooms with one powder bath," said Julius, rattling off the statistics of the place. He unlocked the door with a sharp click. He held Yvett's hand as they went inside. "It's newly renovated with wooden floors and tiled kitchens."

Yvett smiled again, revealing her pearly white teeth. The house was just like the house of her dreams. The foyer was floored by smooth granite tiles, slowly transforming into a dark, polished ceramic tile into the kitchen and hallways. Elegant decorative lights that resembled the lanterns of the olden days were placed on the walls. The living room had cathedral ceilings, extending up into the second floor. Wooden panelled windows streamed the light into the living room like a perfect photo.

"Oh wow! There's fishes here!" exclaimed Zach as he discovered the artificial pond that lined the side of the foyer. They were koi, a type of goldfish.

"I was told that aunt Giselle had not lived here for years," said Julius with a slight frown. He wondered how the fish could be living if no one had been inside for two years. Oh well, his aunt was notorious for maintaining everything in perfect order. She probably had yard workers and maids come in twice a week to clean. The yard definitely had the look of proper weekly landscaping.

"This place is spacious," said Yvett, completely unaware of the fish. "Why isn't Aunt Giselle living here?"

"She said that the house is too big." Julius went over to the living room and pulled off the white clothes that covered the furnitures. A layer of fine dust went up into the air, causing him to sneeze, but he definitely saw the venetian black leather couches, and they still had the original plastic wrappings. He smiled as widely as his wife. Now his sentences to the couches would never be painful again.

"Oh! This kitchen is beautiful!" squealed Yvett once she pulled off the dusty sheets that covered the kitchen counters. Black quartz, a type of granite, polished until a person could see themselves on the surface, layed on the counters. There was a bar, with slots above for any type of drinks. The metals of the stove grill was new, free of spills, gunk, and ash. The refrigerator was a large stainless steel frame. Overall, the kitchen was definitely high class, expensive, and professional. Yvett was about to faint from the possibilities and excitement.

"Juste?" called Julius, finally noticing that someone was missing. He looked to the opened front door, where Juste was staring at the threshold, only a step from entering. "Come in."

"Um..." There just was something about the place that raised every single hair on his neck. "Do I have to?" Shoot, he sounded way too pathetic even for his own dignity.

"Jus...don't you like our new house?" asked Zach, who was closest to Juste.

"I..." Juste looked around nervously. All eyes were on him, especially his mother. But there was also something else watching him, that same thing from before.

Yvett gave her usual warning look. It was enough to make her boy squirm.

Defeated before the confrontation even began, Juste closed his eyes. "Never make your mother angry," his father always said. "She may not take it out on you, but you don't want her to take it out on me, do you?" Damn conscience! With a silent prayer to God, Juste crossed his finger, and stepped over the threshold.

"See, nothing bad," said Zach.

Juste hesitantly opened his eyes. To his pleasant surprise, the feeling of being watched was gone. The air was pleasantly cool. He blinked twice, feeling oddly at ease. Perhaps that shape he saw earlier was just a figment of his imagination. He saw a lot of weird things ever since he was old enough to speak, and Pops telling him scary bedtime stories never helped. Feeling assured, he opened his eyes wide, seeing the inside of the house with renewed excitement.

Now all their children were in, Yvett was feeling frolicsome. She approached Julius, smiling wide with her hazel eyes in the shape of half-moons. "This is beautiful, dear. You have outdone yourself," she complimented.

"Why, thank you dear," said Julius with the smile. He held out his arms and hugged his wife. He was about to kiss her when someone called him.

"Pops!" called Juste, breaking the semi-romantic mood. He always felt embarrassed whenever his parents were getting all slobbery kissy. His mother was about thirty, while his father was over sixty, though he looked more like forty. To Juste, who knew and understood the great age disparity, his parent's match was just scary. "Can we go explore?"

"Of course. Go ahead," said Julius automatically. He was entranced by Yvett, who was making most suggestive motions with her hands.

"Thank Goodness," muttered Juste under his breath. He really did not want to be there when his parents went on their 'private outing with strange noises.'

"Oh! Me come," said Zach. He did not want to be left behind.

"Okay."

"Oh! Pull off the covering cloths!" ordered Yvett before her children ran off. "And stow them in the hallways!"

"Yes mum," came the simultaneous reply.

So while the two lovey dovey parents were downstairs, praising each other with silly phrases, the children ran up the stairs.

The second floor was similar to the first floor in that a white cloth with dust all over it was covering every single spec of furniture. The hallways were floored with a dark smooth wood. There was a study to the south end of the house, linked to a second floor library that connected to the first floor by a compact steel spiraling stair case. A sitting area was by the window, perfected by large leather bean-bag chairs.

"Oh! Me first!" said Zach to his older brother, pointing to the door to a bedroom. He wanted to be the first person in the place. He also learned that if he asked, it would be given.

"Sure," said Juste.

They wandered from room to room. Each room was floored by a brilliant silverish carpet. The walls were painted in a pure white shade, like the veil of a bride. Adorning the somewhat sparse walls were paintings, each covered by the familiar white cloth.

"Oh! I want this to be my room!" said Zach as he wandered into one of the larger of two bedrooms on the second floor. It was spacious, and covered by the ubiquitous dusty white cloths. He pulled the cloths off with a flourish. This room had two built-in mahogany dressers and three closets. The bed was big and plush. He felt so small in the room! He ran around to some of the other rooms, opening, peaking in and wandering out. He looked in the bathrooms too. The washrooms were a little gaudy with 14th century decorations. Only one seemed okay, with regular green bathroom tiling to mask any mold growth.

Juste himself was attracted to the library. He pulled off more white covers to reveal a well preserved collection of books. There were many of the Greek classics like Homer, Herodotus, Sophocles and Aristophanes. There were also some old leather-bound Bibles, the ones that Juste felt would crumble at the touch. However, the collection that attracted him the most was a shelf of game compact discs. He remember there was a Play Station X downstairs when Pops was busy looking at the entertainment center. Juste smiled, thinking about hours upon hours wasted in front of the TV and incurring the much desired brain atrophy.

"Let's go to the third floor," said Zach. He, unlike, Juste, did not enjoy video games yet nor could he read more than children's books.

"Oh...alright."

They thumped to the third floor, where the house really tapered off into a much smaller area. There were three doors. Zach tried the first door, which opened to a strange metallic box that seemed to go nowhere.

"Oh, a mechanical room," said Juste, recognizing the ducts and control panel for the air flow. "Though...why is this so rusted..." The metal box was so corroded that a mere touch had punchered a hole into the ducts. The control panel had a thick red ooze to it. The scent of copper was faint but detectable. It was puzzling to Juste as the rest of the house smelled and shone with the word "new."

Zach had a confused look on his face, but did not question his older brother. He accepted without hesitation that his older brother knew more and that if anything were wrong, big brother could handle it. The red ooze started to bubbled. And the molasses-like drops started to trail toward them...

Juste shut the door as quickly as possible. He took one deep breath and told himself that he was just hallucinating again. His father had told him about that, how he should just ignore the unexpected sparks of light that no one else saw. Some type of occular disorder, his father had said, whatever that means.

Zach, who did not see the red ooze, continued to open the next door.

"Just a bathroom," said Zach. He looked in. This bathroom seemed a little different from others. It was tiled by smooth little black tiles. The decorative wall lamps seemed to flicker like a real candle was burning. There was a separate bathtub and shower room. Zach went inside, turning on the lights and fan.

Juste was a real man and decided to stay outside of the bathroom. He had a strong premonition that something was going to die in this bathroom, and that mere idea put shivers down his spine. What if it was himself? What if it's his little brother? Why was he even considering the possibility?

Zach, his mind wandering, decided to open the third door. He reached for the brass knob and twisted.

"Hey! This isn't opening..." said Zach, trying to twist the knob but could not.

"Let me try," said Juste. He closed the door to the bathroom and marched up to the unopened door. He reached for the handle, feeling the cool brass and gave the knob a test turn.

"Hum...locked," said Juste, frowning. He turned the knob again, and felt the restricting mechanism again. Then he attempt the universal solution of kicking things.

Nope, the door wasn't opening.

"I'm hungry," Juste said suddenly. "Let's go find mom and see if we can get some chicken nuggets at McDonalds."

Zach agreed. He was the first to run off.

Juste was just about to go downstairs when he heard something

Creeeeak...

Juste jumped. He turned and saw the door had opened fully. "_Okay...who just opened the door?"_ he thought, a little scared. His curiosity got the better of him. He tenaciously stepped toward the room, and peeked his head in.

The room looked like most of the rooms downstairs, except that nothing was covered, nor was there any furniture. There was no bed, no dresser, no mirror, no desk, no computer and no lamp. There were many electrical wall outlets, and a white curtain at the closed window. A conspicuous red chest, one with metal plated locks and steel studs, sat in an empty closet. There was no dust.

"Ow!" cried Juste as he was forcefully pushed into the room. He rubbed his sore rump. "Zach! What did you do that for?"

Silence answered him. The air was unspeakably hot, like he was standing in a furnace. But he shivered, as if something stuffed ice down his shirt. The door was still completely open, and Zach was nowhere to be seen.

"Zach!"

No answer.

"Zach!"

No answer.

"ZACH!"

There was a muffled call. "What?" Quick banging noise of little feet stumping the wooden stairs came up. Zach was all wide eyed as he came ambling into the room. "Hey! You got the door to open."

_/Okay...I guess I imagined that.../_ thought Juste. He probably just fell inside without noticing. His mother always said that he had poor balance. He turned to the door, noticing the steal deadbolt was out of the side of the door...

"Oh wow...this is me!" exclaimed Zach excitedly. "Hey Jus!"

Juste's attention was immediately turned to a far wall. Tucked in a corner, on the side of the door was a painting of four people. An older woman, and three children. Zach was pointing to a particular child, the one who seemed to be the eldest of the set of children.

The boy child in the painting had brilliant red hair, a shade darker and a degree shinier than Zach's red. He stood behind, in the middle of the four people. The child had the all familiar solemn features and icy blue eyes. He was every inch like Zach, except the clothes he wore were definitely not something Zach would wear.

"Whose's these people?" asked Zach, pointing to the woman and other children in the painting.

"I don't know," answered Juste. "Maybe Aunt Giselle?" He seemed to remember Aunt Giselle as a twiggy model with the famous blue eyes and blonde hair. But this lady in the portrait was fuller, with obviously sculpted forms of an athletically vigorous woman. Maybe this was how Aunt Giselle looked like when she was younger?

"Hey, here's a name plate..." said Juste as he reached over to touch the bronze plate at at the bottom of the portrait.

The the portrait very suddenly caught on fire.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Yvett and Julius was silent after Juste finish describing the first day they moved in. They took a moment to digest, incredulous looks on their faces.

"So that's why you two ran down screaming..." recalled Yvett.

Julius furrowed his brows. "But we came up again to check out your room. There was no sign of burning, no ash, no smell, no nothing."

The entire family was sitting in a picturesque circle in the living room. The lamps were turned on. The TV was showing some sort of reality TV show, though it was mute.

Erin, the little girl had crawled over to Yvett and was currently sleeping on her mother's lap.

Zach had wandered over to the kitchen to get some snack.

"You weren't...having an ocular episode at the time, were you?" asked Yvette.

All the adult's attention was on Juste. He had the look of annoyance on his face. "Fine. You never bother to believe me."

"Well, you still went into the attic," said Yvett. "And your study room is on the third-floor."

Juste rolled his eyes. Nevermind how Yvett had told him to study daily on the third-floor, saying the room was the furthest from all distracting noises.

"There's more..."

-----------------

End Note: More weirdness to come...

Suikorin


	3. Witch by the Pond

Certain note:

... denotes Romanian speech.

"..." denotes English speech.

The Red Chest: Chapter 3: Witch by the Pond

After the entire Belmont family had surveyed their new house, they went to a local restaurant. It was there that they meet up with Aunt Giselle, in front of the establishment.

They stood waiting in the meeting area just before the entrance doors. From where they stood, they could see a small garden with a gold fish pond. A small candy-like vending machine held fish food. Naturally, the children were fascinated with the wiggling animals. Fish, tadpoles, ducks, and anything that moved captured the attention of the Belmont children. But once a particular lady in a black Mercedes drove past, their mother nudged them into attention.

"Be on your best behavior," said Yvett. "That woman is your Great Aunt, the matron of your father's family."

"Is she mean?" asked Juste.

"Relax," said Julius merrily. "Aunt Giselle is a a very sweet woman. Here she is now."

A woman wearing a full black fur coat stepped out of the car. She walked stiffly toward the family of four.

Juste furrowed his brows and squinted at his Aunt. The woman looked nothing like the super model in the magazines his father had shown him. Her cheeks were emaciated to the point of illness. Her nose was hooked like a vulture. Her perfume was so strong, the image of a man drowning in a pool of moths came to mind, and Juste was immediately naseaous. She was a short woman, about mom's size. Her thin lips and claw-like fingernails were painted matching crimson. Her stick-thin arms were white and bony like death, just like every other one of father's...um...abnormal... relatives.

"Good day to you Nephew Julius," said Giselle in perfect English, her cold blue eyes darting to the side at Yvett and the children then back to her nephew.

Good day to you too, Aunt Giselle, said Julius politely in Romanian. The Belmont had spread themselves all over the world by now, but Julius did remember his Romanian. He also reached over to give his aunt a hug. He was careful not to crush her as Aunt Giselle looked quite ready to be in a grave. I don't believe you have met my family. This is my wife. He gently motioned his tiny dark-haired wife to the front. Yvett. This is my Aunt, Giselle Marionett Belmont.

Yvett, said Juste's mother sweetly, picking up a Romanian accent. She did study Romanian in college. It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Aunt Giselle. She reached over to shake her hand.

Aunt Giselle smiled almost hungrily. The lack of a language barrier was a pleasant suprise. She used her long thin hands to pull Yvett into a rough hug, digging her sharp joints into the young woman. Oh. How wonderful to have finally met the agreeable companion to my nephew, she said with an ever so insincere tone. "But let us speak English from now on."

"Likewise," said Yvett. She was being unusually pleasant despite the obvious discomfort Giselle was forcing on her. Once she was released from the hug, she pushed her youngest son to the front. "This is Zach, my youngest. Say 'Hello Great Aunt Giselle,'"

"Hello Auntie," said Zach with a tone just as angelic as his mother.

Giselle's blue eyes smoldered ever so slightly.

"And this must be your eldest," said Giselle, pushing her way past the parents toward Juste. Her bony cold hands reached over and grabbed the child's chin. She tilted his face towards her. "What a beautiful child," she said simply, her eyes glowing ever so slightly.

"Stop that," said Juste, though he swallowed hard. Aunt Giselle looked like some scrawny old witch who ate children on a daily basis and she seemed keen on eating him. But at his request, the glow immediately faded.

"Hum..." purred Giselle, her enormous lips parting every so slightly, showing her tiny rectangular yellow teeth. "Well...aren't you just the darling to take after your namesake?

Juste raised an eyebrow. "Huh?"

Giselle chortled merrily. "He doesn't know, does he?"

"Aunt Giselle," said Julius through his teeth. His tone was deep and his eyes darted away. "This is not the time."

"Wait. What are you talking about?" asked Juste.

"Oh. You don't know much about your father's...occupation...do you?"

At that moment, before any more words were exchanged, Zach broke in the conversation. "Mommy, I need to use the potty."

Yvett nodded. "Sure. Baby." The woman turned to her husband. "Julius. Can we go in now?" She nodded toward the restaurant's entrance.

"Sure," said Julius, sounding relieved. "We'll talk about Juste another time, Aunt Giselle."

The restaurant was like many of the more ritzy places, with highly polished wooden floors, decorative trim at every corner, and elegant wooden seats for all the customers. The hostess lady was a tall dark-haired woman in her mid-thirties wearing a sleek black dress. She gave Julius a flirty smile and cooed at the two boys. To Aunt Giselle though, she bowed.

They were seated at a comfortable parlor type of table near a window in the corner. From their table, they could see the small pond outside. A waitress came, cooed at the adorable boys and gave them a coloring book and a set of crayons. Aunt Giselle wasted no time ordering her appetizer. Yvett ordered all the foods for herself and her children. Zach and Juste got to pick their drinks of water, juice, or milk. Julius was about to order pizza, but a glare from his small wife made him change to vegetarian pasta.

During the wait for their meal, the parents began a discussion about real estate values and the contract for their new house. Aunt Giselle talked about the notable places in Romania. The adults all spoke of dull topics that would put a child to sleep or fidget.

Zach was a good boy and sat there quietly, filling in the white spaces in the coloring sheet. He was the neat one, always careful not to have even one streak outside the black lines.

Juste was the opposite. He was too old to like coloring books, but too young to understand the complicated things his parents were talking about. He only fidgeted for ten seconds before leaving his seat.

"Mum. I'm going to wander around," said Juste.

"Sure honey," said Yvett, distracted by the tiny print on the sheet before her. She moved so her son could move out. "Be back soon. Oh and be in a place where I can see you."

"Okay." Juste slid out of the seat and gave a glance at Zach. His younger brother was too absorbed in his coloring to follow his older brother like he usually did. He left just in time to see Aunt Giselle giving him a teethy predatory grin.

Within about a minute, Juste went around the entrance to the pond outside. There was no one there since it was a Monday night. He made sure to wave and waited until Yvett waved back. Once his mother signaled, he bent down near the pond, watching the fish and thinking about the circumstances that brought him to Romania.

His parents moved around since he could remember. His father was always away at some special job. His mother held a regular job, but was rarely home. They typically moved from country to country. So far, he could remember London, Paris, Prague, Rome, and now Bucharest. Maybe they would finally stay in one place for a while. Then he may even have actual friends.

Hey. Aren't you one of the people who's moving into the haunted house? came a voice, speaking Romanian.

Juste turned to see the speaker. It was an old woman who looked like a skeleton dipped in wax, all bones but even worse than Aunt Giselle.

You're not from here are you? asked the old woman in Romanian with a sickened laugh. Juste was beginning to wonder if all the old women in Romania were witches. Would his own mother became a witch someday? Not that it would make much of a difference. I heard your folks speak. You can't understand a word I say.

Juste kept silent, his yellowish eyes peered innocently at the woman, questions on his face. He recognized her from somewhere.

You poor poor child..you will die in that house, she chortled, just like Aunt Giselle. Her thin body shook merrily. Just like all those other sixteen children...hahaha...Did you know how the first one died? His own mother bit off his hand and cooked him in the oven!

Juste only tilted his head, a little confused.

The old lady smiled crudely. Be content, because you will go insane in that house. You will be killed, pulled to pieces, then eaten by the Grime Reaper! Hahaha!

Juste stared at her for a full ten seconds. Lady, you are scaring me, said Juste calmly, though his heart was racing. Please stop telling me the bad stories, the words flowing through his mouth as if he knew Romanian all his life. His former teachers always said that he was a genius. His father always said that he was normal for a Belmont.

The woman was surprised. How did you...

My father is from here, said Juste evenly. His name is Julius Belmont.

The woman gave an anguished shriek. You! You are the spawn of that very devil! She began to rave, foaming at the mouth.

Monstrous! Monstrous! Ill upon the world! Your clan breed like flies, like maggots in a rot farm! You are the very locus of the world! The plague upon all mankind! It's all because of you! The very Lord of Darkness will destroy us now! Curse the woman who bore you! May God rain fire and brimstone upon you and your families!

At the end of her speech, Juste took a deep breath and decided to go back inside the restaurant. The woman was left there, ranting and raving.

When he went in, the pretty hostess lady did not seem so pretty anymore. He saw her shadowy bat-like wings, nice ones like the the hundred-dollar bat wings for Halloween. She cooed at him like before. She sounded quite sweet and hungry like an evil seductress. He kept his head down as he passed her, refusing to meet her eyes. He kept his head down until he returned to the table. He tugged on his mother's skirt as he scooted inside the seat.

"Baby," said Yvett, observing her son. "What's wrong? You're shivering?" She placed her hands on her son's arms and began to rub them. She frowned slightly. "Your heart is racing."

"I'm just cold, mum," said Juste, peeking outside the window. "From running around." The old woman was still screeching animatedly at him, pointing her finger at him in rage. Her thin lips moved furiously in denounciation.

Yvett took off her coat and draped it over her eldest son. She patted him on the back before going back to negotiating the contract with Giselle.

"Pshht!" came Zach who sat next to Juste in the corner table. He had finished half of the coloring. "What you looking at?"

"That old lady," whispered Juste, pointing to the figure outside the window.

"Who?"

Juste turned to look at his younger brother. "What do you mean who? The lady by the pond."

Zach looked again. "Jus. No one there..."

Juste's eyes darted back to the pond.

The old lady had disappeared.

For the rest of the meal, Juste politely requested a book and flatly refused to look up and meet Aunt Giselle's eyes or any else's eyes for that matter.

--------------------------------------------

"Wait. That doesn't tie anything to this house," said Yvett.

That story only took Juste about three minutes for him to tell. Zach had come back from the kitchen with a chocolate bar. He went over to Yvett and patted his younger sister's head. Erin stirred slightly, but kept on sleeping.

"Mum. That old lady lives next door," said Juste, getting irritated. "You know, the retired couple? I don't ever pass that way when going to school because of that witch."

"Why didn't you tell us this earlier?" asked Julius, a concerned look on his face. Why did he not know about this?

"Because you'd just tell me that I'm seeing things again, like you always do," said Juste with a sigh.

"Juste," called Zach. "Why don't you tell her about the dead lady?"

"The dead lady?"

"Yeah. The one we saw on our first night here," said Zach.

"What dead lady?" asked Yvett.

"I'll tell you," said Juste.

-------------------------------------

R&R if you ever get the chance.

Suikorin


	4. Burnt

AN: Um...by geography, I'm sure Romania is mostly Eastern Orthodox. Unfortunately, I know nothing about that one, so pretend that the Belmont family slowly migrated over to Catholicism. If there's any grips about that, send me a message and educate me.

The Red Chest: Chapter 4: Burnt

-----------------------------------------

It took about a week to finalize everything. The property officially came under the name Julius and Yvett Belmont. The movers shipped their wanted furniture from Rome to Bucharest. They finally had everything in place: the china sets were placed in the cabinets, their clothes, tucked neatly away in the closets and dressers. Decorations adorned the shelves. Old paintings from Aunt Giselle's private collection were hung. Photos of their loving family members were placed. All the white clothes were taken into storage. Today would be their first night in a while sleeping in a house instead of a hotel.

After the incident on the third floor and the restaurant, Juste was more than apprehensive about this new place. But seeing that his parents were so happy with it, and his little brother making friends with the neighbors next door, Juste decided to keep his disappointments quiet. He and his little brother followed Yvett all day to complete the very last little errands before the weekend.

It was nighttime now. Julius was gone again on one of his many trips to God-knows-where. The three (Yvett, Zach, and Juste) were left alone to guard the house. The two children were in their blue nighttime pajamas while Yvett still wore a business casual outfit. Her new job was titled "Financial Adviser," and she had a good enough reputation to gather a sizable client base within the week.

Yvett was in a relatively pleasant mood. Today, she just signed the contract to rent a small office at a high-class complex just ten minutes from home. The school she registered her children at was well within a five minute walk. Sure, today was rather stressful, cutting off other drivers in traffic, getting shuffling paper from one official building to another. But she was looking forward to her work hours and enjoying the time when she could finally settle down.

For now, Yvett whipped up some mashed potatoes, grilled chicken pasta and broccoli for dinner. Juste made a face at his broccoli but ate his share without complaint since there was no reason for him to do otherwise. Whining would not give him sweets. But Zach outright refused to eat his broccoli. Yvett lectured Zach for a while about the virtues of eating vegetables while Juste took his chance to go upstairs early. He was fairly tired, after registration at the local school, having his immunity shots, getting stared at in every single public place, he was more than ready for bed.

"Remember to take out your Sunday clothes," said Yvett when he hopped off the tall bar chair. "We'll be attending 'Faith,' tomorrow."

There was a pause. "Tomorrow is Saturday," reminded Juste while he absently checked the clock. It was about nine PM.

"I know, Baby," said Yvett, using the usual endearing names with her children. "But we don't know any other Catholic churches yet. Faith is the local church. So we will be observing Sabbath tomorrow."

"Oh," noted Juste dully before going into the living room toward the stairs. Church was more or less a schedule he accepted. Verbal and physical resistance to church so often displayed by other popular boys required too much effort on his part.

Juste ambled upstairs to the second floor. He felt a particular warmth pass over him but ignored it. He was starting to get used to the warm and cold spots in the house. The air circulation of the house had to be whacked, he reasoned. At the second-floor landing, he took a moment to look at the stairs that lead to the third floor.

The steps to the third floor were pitch black, like leading someone onto a cliff that dropped interminably into hell. He knew that not to be true, since he had helped some of the movers in turning the third-floor room into a children's study room. The lock on the third-floor bedroom had disappeared, replaced by a regular door knob. Maybe there were some changes when the custom remodeling contractors came by.

Giving one last glance up the stairs, he entering his new room. His room has a low dresser with a mirror, a full size bed, a desk and a book shelf. A soft lamp stood on an end table. There was a plasma TV opposite his bed which was on for no particular reason, showing some old cartoon show. He stared at his red sheets, black blankets, and green pillows. He wondered mutely if the movers were color blind.

_I suppose they were... _came a voice out of no where.

Juste blinked and looked around. He was sure he had heard that. He opened his closet and found it full of neat clothes. He opened his drawers and found organized stationaries. At last he looked furtively under his bed, slightly worried that there was the bed-monster. Nothing either.

Convinced that the voice was only a fragment of his imagination, he continued with his nightly ritual.

He went over to the drawers and began to pick out a pair of khakis and a button-up shirt. The movers must had been paid really well since all his clothes were neatly folded in his dressers. He placed his sunday clothes on the chair and hopped into his bed. He pulled out the drawer of the end table near the lamp and picked up a solitary book.

The book was black and leather bound, about the size of a dictionary. On the book's back page were golden letters, inscribed "Juste Belmont." The front page had the words "Bible," and in smaller letters "Vulgate," written in the same golden lettering.

Juste traced the word "Bible" carefully with his forefinger. This book was a unique item belonging to one of his distant relatives. Father had said that the book was over three centuries old, and could fetch millions at an auction. Expensive book or not, Juste was told to study at least one passage from this bible a night.

Now, things would probably go a lot faster if the Bible was in some modern language, preferably English, French, German, or even Romanian. This Bible, however, was in St. Jerome's Latin translations of the Hebrew Torah and the Greek testaments. Page after page held words of an out of date language. Then there was the inclusion of the Apocrypha, which father had bluntly told Juste to ignore.

At any rate, Juste curled up in his blankets and leaned to the side. Bucharest sure was colder than Rome. He propped the old Bible sideways. Today was a review in Luke, the part about the prodigal son. He plodded along, furrowing his brows as he attempted to remember what certain Latin words were. Juste had memorized the entire passage from the King James Version, however, his father wanted him to memorize from the Vulgate.

Normally, any child would resist such ridiculous demands. But Juste was a natural at this. He possessed, from his earliest memories, an abnormally advanced understanding of anything he saw, anything he read, anything he heard, and anything he sensed. He knew languages within days. His memory was photographic in every sense of the word. Unfortunately, he was a quiet child, rarely speaking to anyone of what he knew. He learned early in life that his mother didn't care much for his incomprehensible babbling. His father laughed most of it off, saying that it was just something any Belmont should know. Juste shrugged all of it off, reasoning that as long as his video gaming time was not compromised, he was willing to do this small task.

Time passed on. There was some rough scuffling sound next door as Yvett put Zach to bed. Juste heard the door open and close, the ticks in the turning on the lights, and the voice of his mother reading to his younger brother. Yvett's soft diction of a bedtime story went on as Juste began to slowly memorize passages in Latin. He had difficulty in understanding the morals behind some of the scenes he read, as he was still young. The significance of a father forgiving his ungrateful son was alien to him.

"Juste," came Yvett's soft voice as she knocked on his door. She opened the door, coming in. Her dark hair now fell in waves about her shoulders and luminous green eyes gazed warmly at her son. She truly was a handsome woman, her appearance openly declared confidence and competence. Juste decided that he rather liked his mother, despite how she really could be a witch at times. Some of her green-looking lumps from the stove were absolutely horrid.

"Mum," said Juste.

Yvett walked over to her pale son. She sat by his bed and stroked his hair. "Why aren't you asleep? It's already ten," she said disapprovingly.

"I'm not tired yet," he said honestly.

"Humm..." mused Yvett.

There was a moment of silence. Then Yvett spoke. "Baby, do you like this house?"

Juste turned his head toward his mother. He looked at her with his yellowish eyes quizzically. "I guess," he said nebulously. "I don't hate it."

Yvett gave a wan smile. "You know, your father and I decided on this house because we thought you and Zach would be happy here."

"Oh..." He paused for a moment. "Then I like it here too," he said amiably.

Yvett looked upon her eldest son with critical hazel eyes. She observed that her eldest son was always more thoughtful than other children. His responses were always far more respectful and considerate of others. It was also a great relief to her that he was naturally gentle and obedient. Sometimes, she saw the rambunctious behavior of other children and thanked God for her sweet son. However, she felt somewhat left out of his little world as he seemed to be constantly distracted by some idea. And as a mother, she disapproved of the exclusion. "What are you doing now?"

"Memorizing Luke fifteen, the prodigal son," he said.

Yvett rolled her eyes. "Are you studying the bible again?"

"Father said so," answered Juste.

"Well, your father is a little off in the head, let me tell you that," said Yvett with a disapproving twist of her lip. That was one of the many things they disagreed upon. Yvett wanted her children to attend church so they would grow up to be moral, and make some friends in the process. Julius wanted his children to take the bible to heart, especially his eldest. Yvett feared that her children would become religious fanatics and condemned all who were not "Christian."

"Well..Pops is a little weird," agreed Juste. "I don't understand why he wants me to read off this one when reading the Greek would be much more accurate."

Yvett started at him. Sometimes, her son was plainly too precocious for her, and she relaxed. Her son was the most sensible boy, she should not worry at all. "Baby, you don't know Greek," she said laughing.

Juste paused. "Oh. I guess you're right."

"So, what are you on now?" asked Yvett, curious.

"I'm just finishing up. Luke fifteen thirty-two. It's 'Epulari autem et gaudere oportebat quia frater tuus hic mortuus erat et revixit perierat et inventus est.'"

Yvett gave him a look. "Anything but Latin," she reminded. "Your mother isn't as gifted in language as you are."

Juste repeated the passage again. "It was meet that we should make merry, and be glad; for this thy brother was dead, and is alive again; and was lost, and is found."

"That's better," said Yvett with a mused smiled on her lips. Her son was simple but complicated all the same. She was proud of him. "Now give me a kiss and go to bed," she ordered. "You'll have to get up early for church tomorrow."

"Alright," Juste acquiesced. He reached up and give his mother a light kiss on the lip. Then he laid down and allowed himself to be covered and tucked in.

"Night, Baby," said Yvett. She went to turn off the TV and the lamp. Then she went to a corner and turned on the night light.

Juste laid there for some time, after his mother closed his door and left. He listened to the air conditioning run and the wind blowing against his window, thinking. He wondered if he would make many friends at school. He had always been a little bit withdrawn and somewhat of an outcast due to his outward appearance. He had the idea of dying his hair and getting colored contacts. He wanted to look normal, with darker hair and brown eyes. He would rather be ignored as insignificant than disdained. But his mother specifically forbid any such altering, saying that he was fine just the way he is.

He was about to drift into sleep when he heard something.

"Koosssss" came this hissing noise.

Juste sat up and concentrated. He knew that type of whining. He woke up more than enough times when Zach was born. It was the nasal pouty moan before his baby brother decides to break out in a fuss cry.

_Not Zach,_ he mouthed to himself. He would know if it was Zach. His mother had left him alone with his younger brother enough times. And Zach was older now. He had learned to poke someone on the shoulder or tug their clothes to get attention; it was more polite that way.

The sound was coming from outside his room, this he was sure. He slipped off his bed, planting his two small feet on the cold floor. A wave of nausea overcame him momentarily. He took a minute to recover. He then tiptoed over to his door and carefully opened it.

A blast of cold air rushed its way into the room. Juste quickly shut the door, a little chilled. He ran over to his dresser and pulled out a thin jacket. He put on the jacket and opened the door again.

Quietly, he snuck out of his room and into the dark hall. He saw a faint light from downstairs and the familiar and comforting humming drifting up to the second floor. That must be his mother, cleaning up before bedtime. He strained his ears again, trying to hear the sound.

The sound changed now. It was moaning like a dying animal. And it was coming from Zach's room.

Gathering up as much courage as he could, Juste quietly stepped toward Zach's room and cracked opened the door.

There was something there...

Juste's eyes widened and gasped.

Inside Zach's room, standing next to Zach's bed was a monster of a person. It was wearing a rag of a dress, greased and darkened by burn marks. Its skin was partially charred off. Raw exposed muscle fibers clung desperately to its pus soaked bones. Blood vessels pulsated rapidly, dark blood and milky secretions oozed out every inch of its skin.

From Juste's peek point, he could see the side of the monster's face. Its features were near indistinguishable. Its lips were gone, revealing broken bleached teeth. Deep gashes tore across its cheek bones.

It did not seemed to see Juste. It only turned and tramped toward Zach's small bed, rasping something in Romanian.

_Ahh...good eats..._

It bent down slightly, exposing a partially beating heart. Torn hands, the ligaments grinding over the bones and dripping dark red blood, hovered above Zach's neck.

"Zach!" cried Juste, pushing the door open.

The half-burnt creature turned, turning its cool gaze upon Juste. Its scarred face twisted into an angry and silent scream. _YOU!_

"Jus! Run!" cried Zach from the bed.

"Not without you!" declared Juste boldly.

_You!_ it raged on in a deep possessed demonic voice. _You foul creature! How dare you show yourself you hellish excrement._

"But!" replied Juste frantically, taking steps back. How he ever understood Romanian so easily escaped him. His heart was pounding at his throat. He felt the comfortable air turn chilly and humid.

_You reneged your promise!_ it roared, shaking the very room. _And now you're here?_

"Run!" screamed Zach.

With jerking speed, the monster slid across the floor, right to Juste's face. It glared at him with gaping holes where the eyes would had been. Its clammy hands grabbed the child's thin throat and squeezed.

Juste couldn't even scream as he was lifted off the ground. His legs dangled hopelessly in the air as he clutched the horribly hot arm in an attempt to free himself. He felt his hand scorch from the heat as his breathing was slowly constricted. His mind swirled in confusion and terror. He was completely helpless, and there was only one thing he could do.

"Kyrie..." he gasped with difficulty, something different inside sparked. "eleison!" He declared. The strangle hold loosened and he wrangled himself out of the the monster's grasp. The mutilated creature shrieked as its hand and wrist suddenly burst into blue flames.

Juste bolted straight back into his room, fearing for his life. He slammed the door as hard as he could and and pounded in the lock button. Looking around in panic, he ran to his desk chair, pulled the piece of furniture to his door and blocked the entrance. He then bounded across the room, and fumbled with the lights. Once the light was on, he pulled his blankets over his head. He hugged himself, trying to make himself as small as possible, shaking very hard. **That** could not have been one of his occular episodes. Never in his entire experience had he seen something so truly terrifying.

There was loud, harsh, banging on his door, his room shook and the light flickered. The same desperate and persistent banging sound that a doomed Jew would do in a gas chamber. It went on for an entire horrifying ten minutes. Juste could feel his heart in his throat, beating twice as fast. He worried about Zach and imagined how the monster must have eaten his younger brother. He squinted his eyes shut as tightly as he could, praying long and hard to God. He confessed all his sins, and begged the Lord to save and forgive him.

Then, the banging stopped.

The lamp blinked and popped.

There was a clicking sound as the door opened silently. Heavy steps made its way toward his bed. He felt two pair of hands feeling around him, on his back, his head, poking and prodding him like an animal. Then his blanket was violently pulled back.

Juste rolled, trying to get away. His eyes still closed because he knew he would petrify in horror if he saw that thing again.

Strong chilly hands held him back, grabbing him by the shoulders.

"Juste!" yelled a feminine voice.

The child knew that voice, and stopped resisting. "Mum?" he queried in a tiny shaking voice.

"Baby!" called Yvett, her elegant features worried. She was in a loose red-silk night gown. "Are you alright?" Her gentle hands brushed away his heavy bangs. "You're all clammy..." she wiped away his sweat with her sleeves. "Open your eyes. It's me."

Slowly, a pair of completely dilated eyes opened. The amber in his eyes was hardly visible, and he still shook like a frightened lamb for the slaughter. He gazed upon his mother's sleepy features. It was obvious that she had been recently woken.

"Mum!" breathed Juste in relief. He fell into her bosom, hugging her waist as tightly as he could. Finally, he was safe again.

Yvett tilted her head in question, but was too puzzled by her son's strange behavior to speak. It was obvious to her that Juste was just too agitated to answer. She stroked his air, trying to calm him down. His heart was still beating like a hunted rabbit's.

"Juste?" called a young voice from the door.

The older brother raised his head to catch a glimpse of the speaker. "Zach?"

Zach rubbed his eyes groggily, dragging his pillow along the floor. He paced over to the bed and hugged Yvett's leg. "I drank my cup of milk," he declared almost proudly.

"That's a good boy," said Yvett gently. "Can you go warm up another cup for your older brother?"

"Awww...but I wanna nap nap, now"

"Go!" said Yvett sternly this time.

Zach pouted but went back out and down to the kitchen.

"Baby," called Yvett gently to her son. Although Juste was no longer an infant anymore, Yvett was still fond of the nickname 'Baby.' "Can you tell me what's wrong?"

Juste shook his head, still too shaken by what he had just witnessed.

Yvett sighed. It was moments like these that she found parenting difficult. What should she tell to a child frightened awake by a mere nightmare? Nine years old was still so tender a time for her son. However, this was her Juste, one of the most logical and sensible children she ever had the pleasure of knowing.

"You know, Your little brother came to my room, telling me that he was woken up by a bad dream," said Yvett in a soothing voice. "Did you have a bad dream too?"

"I..." Juste found the words stuck in his throat, not knowing what to say. What he experienced felt too real to be a dream. He contemplated that idea for a while. If it was real, then he had a right to be scared. He was in danger for the rest of his life! But if it was a dream, well, he would probabaly never live this down, and he had nothing to worry about. "I...think so," he finally said, agreeing to his mother's explanation.

"Well, if you want you can come sleep on Mama's bed, if you like," said Yvett a little hesitantly. It was an unusual offer, considering the boy was nine years old, past the age of napping with his parents for comfort.

"Can I?" Juste's question was just a little too eager.

"Of course," said Yvett, a little taken back. As usual, he surprised her. "Well, until your father returns. He comes back on Monday."

"Yes...I would like that," said Juste, returning to his usual polite and mild demeanor. His heart was slowly returning to its regular beats.

"Good. Now go clean up quickly," said Yvett. "Your neck and hands are filthy. Go take a shower and put on some new PJs. Mama isn't going to let you sleep on her bed unless you're clean. Be quick about it though, you only have three more hours of sleep until church."

"Huh?" Something just did not compute in Juste's little world. He look to the clock, his eyes widened again.

It read three AM.

Five hours had passed in what he had perceived as less than half an hour. He looked down on his hands.

The entire palm of his two hands were smeared with fine crumbly brown particles, as fine as mortared scabs. He rubbed his neck with the back of his hand.

The hand came back darkened like cremated dust.

He looked to his mother then back to his hands again.

"What's wrong?" asked Yvett, concerned again. She frowned, looking at his hands and neck.

Juste shook his head and took a deep breath. He was going to nap with mother, so he would be safe, at least for rest of the morning. He look down at his hands, swallowing hard.

"It was...**all**...just...a dream."

----------------------------------------

Suikorin


	5. Visitor

The Red Chest

Chapter 5: Visitor

"You know Pops," said Juste with a yawn. He picked himself up from the leather couch and stretched. "I've had enough of story telling for the night. I'm going to bed."

Zach immediately got up too. He ran to the stairs, ready to go up along with his older brother.

Julius's features were unreadable once his son had finished the story. He seemed deep in thought, analyzing his eldest son's words.

"Take your sister," said Yvett quietly. She looked down to the little girl who had laid her head on her mother's lap. "Don't wake her up."

"Of course," Juste said with a deadpan voice. Mother always gave superfluous commands. Did she think he hadn't learned something in the last sixteen years? As he picked up Erin, the little girl automatically encircled her arms around her brother. At her usual habit, Juste suddenly felt very unmanly. Expressing tenderness was a girl's job, not a man's.

"Wait," called Julius. "That dream that you had..."

Juste stopped at the first step of the stairs. "That was not a 'dream.' That really happened. I told myself that it was a dream because I was nine-years old back then and scared half to death."

"Did you have any more dreams like that?" Julius asked.

Juste sighed. They did not believe a word he said, just as he expected. He wondered why in the world he had just spent the past hour telling them stories. They would send him to a shrink for sure, he could tell. "Pretty much all the time, back then," answered Juste truthfully. "After a few months or so, I somehow learned to filter out most of it. I slept much better after that."

"Anything else unusual?" pressed the father.

"No, Pops. Having a creepy thing lift me off the ground isn't unusual enough," he said sarcastically. "Now, I must go and give my blankets my utmost undistracted attention."

Juste ran silently up the stairs after his unusually energetic little brother Zach. Julius's eyes trailed after him, eyebrows furrowed.

The living room was now silent. Julius processed the three short encounters that Juste had. It was true that Julius disregarded everything Juste saw when he was younger as the result of a hyperactive imagination; Julius himself never saw a ghost until much later in life. There was one strange thing though. How come his son saw the horrors in this house while he saw and felt nothing?

Yvett looked worried. "Do you...do you..." she groped for the words. "Do you think Juste needs to go see a...psychologist?"

At that suggestion, Julius considered the possibilities. He remembered that he had instructions since youth about his special side. He had a mentor, a relative who had passed away many years ago. Now, he never thought one of his own could be an heir of the vampire hunter's great task. That heir was already named and he resided in Spain. They had tested the successor's abilities. The successor had the approval of many church leaders and especially of Genya. Julius suddenly regretted those early years when he traveled the world on missions for the Vatican. He had spent too much time ensuring the success of their great task and not enough time to see the possible trouble closer to home.

"If he needs one...then he will need the best we can get," said Julius. Unbridled exercise of talent was a dangerous condition. Julius was not sure if his eldest son had any talent since Julius never detected anything. The stories told that night, however, spoke of something else, and it had Julius worried. In the past, unrestrained children were deliberately put to sleep. He was not about to tell his wife about the more irritating traditions on his side of the family. He also needed to consult some of his more knowledgeable contacts. Perhaps Juste had fallen over the brinks, perhaps he was still salvageable. Maybe Juste was just a normal teenager with a hyperactive imagination. "I'll need to think things over for the next few days. In the meantime, we need to find out a little more about our son..."

"Alright."

-----------------------------------

The weekend came and went. Yvett occupied her mind by looking through the phone book and internet for psychologists who could fix her son's daydreams. By Monday, she contacted many of her clients whom she knew had some credibility in adolescent mental development.

Julius's tactics were a little more exotic. He first did a survey of the house only to find nothing of note. He then hung around his home office with a cellphone, speaking his many languages with clear and precise pronunciation. He jotted down many names, a few of them priests, one of them the bishop over their district, one of them a cardinal, and some more unusual persons. The piece of paper was in front of him now, and he scribbled some more names and crossed out some.

"So dear, what do you think? Doctor Sullivan or Doctor Larson?" asked Yvett while sipping her morning coffee with one hand, the other making eggs. She wore her business outfit, ready for another day of work. "Doctor Sullivan has published over fifty papers on developmental psychology. Dr. Larson has over sixteen years of experience."

Julius shrugged. "Let's see Dr. Sullivan first," he said, biting down on a piece of toast. "Then I think Bishop Mark."

"Can you two not blatantly scheme in front of me?" said Juste tiredly. His sudden announcement caused Yvett to choke on her coffee, and Julius to make a long stray mark on his paper.

"What?" offered Juste when he saw the glare from his parents. He was wearing the black uniform of Saint Sutherland High School, a private secondary institution for the faithful. He reached down to pick up a cup of orange juice that Yvett had prepared for him. He grimaced at the sour taste before huffing down another mouthful. "Your son may be be crazy and possessed, but he's not stupid."

"You are not crazy," said Yvett sternly as she recovered her composure. She whipped some toast and eggs onto a plate and placed it in front of Juste. "Eat up."

Juste rolled his eyes. "No. I am not crazy. I'm possessed."

"It's a little early in the morning for witty remarks, Juste," reminded Yvett.

"Yes Mother," he said, staring blankly at his breakfast. The egg and toast were soggy with grease; they sizzled and oozed thick-looking yellow goo. He felt an unexpected craving for grit gruel.

"And pull your hair up," said Yvett. "I don't want your hair in your food." She reached over and tucked one of Juste's long strands behind his ear. Juste typically had his hair bound' in a neat braid, but many strands seemed to fall down the side of his face more often than not. Yvett did not like his long hair, since it made him look like some homeless bum.

"Of course, Mum." Juste ignored her advice all the same. Then he went silent and put his hands together in wordless prayer. Of everyone in the house, he was the only one who had the habit of praying before meals.

Two other children came by. Zach and Erin came in single file, hopping onto their respective bar stools. They wore the same uniform as Juste. One went to Saint Sutherland Middle, the other Saint Sutherland Elementary.

Both drank their orange juice without complaint though they frowned at the sight of their breakfast. Eggs and toast again. They would have to pick up some cereal at some point. Sugarless cereal would be better than drinking pure oil.

Unbeknownst to Julius, his eldest son was leaning slightly over, reading off the listed names. Juste made faces, nodding and shaking his head. He widened his eyes and even chuckled silently. Until he came to one name...

"Don't have her over, Pops," said Juste. "Yoko Belnades won't come into this house."

"Huh?" Julius turned.

"She and someone named Henry came to visit some time after we moved in," said Juste, taking a bite of his toast. He made a disgusted face and swore that he would eat grits for the rest of his life. "She ran off screaming."

-------------------------------------------------------

"Miss Belnades," called the secretary name Chiyo Furi. "A Mister Belmont is calling. He says it's urgent."

Yoko raised an eyebrow, giving one of her famous confident smiles. "I'll pick it up from here." She picked up the headset and pressed the talk button on the main console.

"Julius," she purred a little too sweet, too sultry. "How's my favorite vampire hunter? Are you taking me up on my..hehe...offer?"

"_Don't talk like that. My wife is around!"_

The sorceress laughed merrily. "Well, if you ever get tired of her...you know exactly where to find me."

_"You're too much Yoko. Oh. How is Mauricio Schiender?"'_

"As well as expected," said Yoko. "He passed the tests Father Nicolas has given. Now we're waiting for his coming of age."

_"Yes yes. Once my burden is passed down, we'll all sleep better."_

"Very much," agreed Yoko. "You are getting quite, quite old."

_"Not very flattering, are you?"_ was the sarcastic reply.

"No, I am not." Then she leaned back on her chair, smiling insufferably.

"_Should I remind you that you are over forty now?"_

"All I can say is plastic surgery," said Yoko, laughing wickedly. She loved playing around with the old man. "So, how are your children? Your oldest should be about fifteen now."

_"Sixteen,"_ Julius corrected. _"The next is eleven and smallest six."_

"How lovely! Are you finally going to allow us mere mortals to meet them now? I'm sure nothing will come after them since Mauricio is very ready to inherit your family heirloom."

_"Well...about that...care to visit Bucharest sometime next week?"_

"Bucharest? I don't know...why?"

"_For the scenery, history and the pleasure of my company."_

"Come on Julius. If you want to bribe me, you have to do better than that. There's another reason, isn't there?"

"_Hehehe. Nothing gets past you, does it? The real reason I want you to come is because I live here. I want you to meet my family."_

"Wait a minute," Yoko paused, recalling the last time she visited that part of Europe. "I thought you live in Prague."

_"I do, when I'm working. But my family lives in Bucharest."_

"Wait...wait..." Yoko took a moment to think. "You're not living in that gigantic house with the white-haired ghost brat, are you?"

_"White-haired ghost brat? You mean my eldest son?"_

Yoko widened her eyes. Her heart sped up. "He is your son? He's actually **human**?"

There was a pause_. "Well, yes. We had him DNA tested." _Yoko heard laughter on the other side. _"I was confused when he was born since the incidence of albinoism hadn't cropped up in over three hundred years. I thought my wife cheated on me."_

"She might have. That monster may be a ghost, a ghoul, but he is definitely not human."

_"Now just a minute. You sound disturbed. Are you alright? Are you even sure?"_

"Julius. I am not half as disturbing as that little monster."

-------------------------------------------------------------------

A foreign man and woman drove by the pleasant looking suburbs of a a peaceful looking neighborhood. They passed the tree-lined streets and white-washed picket fences. Rolling clouds contrasted beautifully against the blue sky. A cool breeze hurried by, carrying with it the sounds of playing children and the chattering of watchful mothers.

"Hardly the place to suspect demons," said Yoko, smiling. "This place is so picturesque!"

"So, where are we going?" asked the driver. He held a map in front him, against the the steering wheel. "And what are we doing here?"

"Oh. A little errand for Genya," said Yoko. "He said there is a witch named Cassandra Rosemurtle living here with something of his. He wants me to find out if she's worth the trouble, and maybe retrieve whatever was his."

"A little vague, isn't he?" asked the driver.

"Genya has always been like that," said Yoko. "And why are you here, Hammer?"

"Enjoying ancient Romania," explained Hammer. "They say dear ol' Dracula originated here. Hard to believe."

"This is the nice part of town," explain Yoko. "Unemployment rates is around 25. Stop here. I want to ask around."

They stopped in front of a three-story house with a red roof and beige walls. Yoko came out of the car and stumbled a little. She shook her head, fluffing her hair and taking in a long deep breath of the cool breeze. Long car rides were never good for her. From there, they went successively down the street, asking around for a Cassandra Rosemurtle. The people listened to their halting Romanian politely. Yoko explained that Cassandra was her older sister who was last heard of here. Each gave her sympathatic looks before shaking their head in regret.

Finally, after approximately three fruitless hours, an professional looking balding man in one of the more homey type of houses gave some hint of recognizing the name.

"Rosemurtle, huh?" muttered the man, then he made a vague gesture down the street where Yoko and Hammer came from. "She used to live in that manor with the red roof, until she went insane."

They asked the balding man where to find the specific house. The man had to repeat himself many times as his audience had difficulty understanding the native language.

"Hum...A woman who had two children in that house and then hacked them to death one night with a wooden stake," said Yoko to herself. "Sounds unsettling."

"Can't be anything too bad," said Hammer. "Besides, you're a sorceress. There's nothing you can't handle."

"Except for Genya and Soma," retorted Yoko. "I wouldn't even dream of facing them."

Eventually, after half an hour of leisure pacing, they arrived back at their car, in front of the building described. They stopped for a moment, taking in the manor-sized house. It seemed rather gloomy now, despite the fine weather and a thriving entrance garden. The air had became stale with an acrid taste to it.

"Rosemurtle lived here?" asked Hammer. "Must be one wealthy lady."

"Let us go see if anyone is in," said Yoko.

The two adults paced across the large driveway. Yoko's heels and Hammer's boots made awfully loud clicking sounds on the pavement. The wooden steps to the entrance porch groaned like a dying man as both pressed on the door bell.

The electronic intercom echoed a pleasant church bell-like ring through out the house. Minutes passed, no one answered.

"That's odd," muttered Yoko. "I feel many people inside..."

She went to test the doorknob.

It was unlocked.

"Hello?" called Yoko as she swing the door open.

A lavish living room greeted her. Large comfy looking leather couches adorned the center of the room. Torch lamp lights were at each corner. The entertainment center had a sleek silver case and a large plasma flat screen. A large decorative vase made of porcelin held stalks of fresh flower. The paths of the main foot traffic area were paved by smooth polished tiles. Directly to the left of the door was a small goldfish pond.

"Anybody home?" called Hammer.

Complete silence and stale cold air. The air conditioning was either too quiet or broken. There was a high pitched humming noise, very high and barely audible. It was a noise that both Yoko and Hammer could hear, and knew its maddening effects. Such knowledge made them uncomfortable.

"You wait here," said Yoko. "And see if anyone is coming up. I'll go upstairs to see if Rosemurtle is hiding here."

Yoko paced upstairs at a dead-man climbing pace. At a point, she felt completely hot like she was burning. But that flash of heat passed just as suddenly as it came. Once she made it to the second floor, she continued to open each and every door she came upon.

The first was a startlingly neat room. The bed with clashing sheet color was very well made. On the desk was a pile of books. Some of the titles were "Geography," "English to Italian Dictionary," and "Anthology of Spirits and Ghosts." The lamp right next to the bed was on, giving off a soft light. The pale blue curtains were closed to ward off the mid-day sun. The closet was slightly open, revealing a rather bright red chest.

The second room she went into was a complete disaster. There were random toys scattered all over. Legos and car toys laid in haphazard fashion all over the floor. The blankets were pulled half way down to the floor. School uniforms marked by dust, dirt and grime were negligently tossed into a pile near the closet. A ceramic lamp laid shattered inside the closet. Yoko almost chuckled at that, since she could just imagine some kid trying to hide such mischief behind laundry.

The third room was unusually arranged and disturbingly white. There was a white curtain bellowing before a white open window. There was a white cradle, a white torch lamp, white closets and white dressers. And crouched near the window, partially hidden by the white curtains was a pale little white haired child.

Yoko was in shock. Its white head was buried in its pale bruised hands. The entire body had scar marks as if someone had drawn them all over its body. Its feet seemed to sink into the floor, as if the child had been standing there forever. The tiny bare frame shook violently as it quietly sobbed "mommy" over and over again.

"Hey," called Yoko hesitantly. She never had experience dealing with abused children and thus was uncertain what to say to the child. "Are you alright?"

The child shook its head, still sobbing a heart-wrenching sob. It cried for its mother again.

There was something about the child that made Yoko's senses reel in sharp pain. It was not normal, Yoko could tell for sure, but it was not evil either.

"Where is your mommy?" asked Yoko gently, her instinctive maternal side showing.

"They took her away," it wailed wretchedly. "and she never came back."

"Who are 'they'?"

"The..." the voice stuck in the child's throat. "The priests...they say she...is ill..."

"Why is she ill?"

"She...she," the little child gushed out of its throat. Then in a very tiny voice, it said, "she went mad." It slowly lifted its head from its palms, revealing the beaten up gaunt features of what was probably the most adorable little white-haired boy Yoko had ever encountered in her life. She took in his features, her heart nearly melting from the her need to run up to him and comfort him. He was probably only five or six years old. His crystal eyes were so sad, and so forlone. A side of the face was badly bruised as if some person had recently smacked him. Only Yoko's strict training, fear, and curiosity had held her back from going toward him.

"Why did she go mad, honey?" asked Yoko.

"Mommy did this to us," said the child standing up. Its chest was tore open to the heart. A thick dark wooden stake was embedded completely in the still pulsing heart like a skewer in a turkey. "Can you help us get mommy back?" it implored hollowly, blood gushing out of its blistered lips as it spoke. Tears of blood flowed down its gaunt cheek as it wept brokenheartedly. "We are hurt, and we need her to make everything alright again."

Yoko bit down on her lips so as not to scream. She stepped backward out of the room and quickly pulled the door shut. Her legs grew weak and she plopped down on the ground, shaking all over, cold sweat flowing down her neck. "F! kid ghosts!" she cursed. She could handle werewolves, golems and ghouls, but never kid ghosts. Those just freaked her out.

"Hammer!" she called. "Get up here!"

Silence answered her. She waited for thirty seconds before trying again.

"Hammer!"

Still nothing.

Yoko was getting vexed. She called upon a fireball in her hand, ready to throw it at anything that could come. But first, she had to find that ghost child again. She still had her mission to accomplish. Once she stood up, she opened the door to the room again.

The whiteness had disappeared, replaced by a dark bloodied room with rusted iron floors and a grime covered cradle. The stench of sulfur, rot, and copper nauseated the woman. The window had disappeared, and in its place was a floating throne. A rag-covered hag sat with her legs wide and her back haunched. It crackled as its incriminating hands pointed to the two wrangling pale bodies pinned to the wall by barb wires.

"What are you?" demanded Yoko.

"Hehehe..." the hag giggled, her fingers twisting unnaturally toward the moaning two bodies. "Weren't you naughty, huh? weren't you?" it crooned and the wires slid across their delicate wrists.

"Ahhh," both of the children cried. "Mommy! Please stop!"

"Naughty children! How dare you tell on me!" snarled the hag. "Naughty little children should be punished!" The wires moved, and a strangling sound was emitted from the walls.

"Stop this!" cried Yoko, throwing her fire ball.

The fireball flew half way and extinguished on its own.

The hag suddenly noticed Yoko. The monstrous woman's bloodshot eyes twirled in opposite directions until it focused on Yoko. "Kukukuku...a new comer...eh? Are you here to succumb to Her madness? Her hate?" it asked, its bony hands shaking and drilling through the two children who were pinned to the wall. The children had stopped crying and moving, but they still twitched in unspeakable pain.

Yoko looked back. The door she entered had disappeared, trapping her inside this nightmarish world. The barb wires, dripping with bodily fluids and gunk shot toward her. Yoko could only use her hands to block as the wires tore through her hand, through her bones and into her arms. Yoko screamed, pain and metal worming into her very heart. Everything hurt so much and none of her own resistance, or her magic had any effect.

"Gnagh gnah gnah," the hag chortled merrily. "Feel Her eternal suffering, her eternal hate for all of you!"

Suddenly, the door opened. The same child Yoko saw from before came in, but older, perhaps ten years old. It wore a blood-soaked smock, the same dark-wood stake through its heart. Its glassy eyes seemed as though they stared through everyone.

The hag took one look and emitted an glass shattering screech. "Sin! Sin! Sin!" Her arms started to twist unnaturally like a broken doll. "Spawn of Devil! Vile Foul Creature! Crawl back to Hell!"

The child shook its head. "You crossed the line, Rosemurtle." It knelt down, a forefinger pointed.

"NOooo!" screamed the hag.

The child touched a finger to the floor. A blue fire engulfed the entire room, purifying the iron grates back into virgin white carpet. The hag howled only once before banishment. The two wrangling bodies disappeared, along with all the traces of barb wire.

Yoko dropped to the floor, feeling bile coming up her throat. Her entire insides, her arms, her throat, her stomach, felt completely raw. She looked to her hand, somewhat relieved and frightened by the absence of marks. She looked to the child.

The child remained the same. His sodden smock dripped blood onto the white carpet, staining the floor a fresh crimson around his feet. His dirtied feet were charred by fire, and fresh blood ran down his legs, forming a puddle. He pointed a swollen cut finger at a newly opened door that lead to the normal stale world. "Leave, Miss Belnades...and remember, that this is only a dream."

----------------------------------------

"That is what happened in that house, Julius," said Yoko hotly though a shiver ran down her spine. It was the only time her magic failed, the only time she felt complete fear. "And now you're telling me that you live in that house?"

There was only silence and scratching sounds from the other end. There was a moment of static then the line went clear again.

"Miss Belnades?" the voice was weak and hallow. There was a gurgling sound like it was choking on its own blood. "Can you help us find mommy?"

"Jesus holy shit!" Yoko promptly ripped her headset off and threw it away from it. The headset flew into the wall, bursting into flames as it did. "Chiyo!" she screamed to her secretary. "Pull the lines!"

--------------------------------------

On the other line, Julius had just came back from the bathroom. He put the earpieces to his head only to hear the dial tone.

"Hum...that's weird..." He dialed the number again only to receive the busy signal. He was puzzled but shrugged. Yoko could take care of herself, though it would probably behoove him to take a special trip to Japan. Special situations like this always worked better if explained in person.

In the other room, Juste sighed with his eyes closed. He sat next to an old rotating dial phone. He rubbed his temples hard, almost bruising himself.

"Looks like I AM possessed..."

----------------------------------------------------

Suikorin


	6. Father Gideon

AN: Um...typically, a good priest doesn't do whatever I wrote here.

Chapter 6: Father Gideon

Father Gideon was a stout man in his mid-forties, with gray eyes and graying hair. He was a muscular man, with enough strength to lift a side of a Volvo off the ground. This was not something new as he had been a soldier before he turned forty. He was in stellar shape, often seen jogging in the morning and afternoon in one of the nicer neighborhoods.

He had been a priest at Bucharest Catholic for the past five years or so. After a small participation in a minor war that killed a few hundred, he decided that a change in career was in order. He had been a fervent believer since his teenage years, and always felt that his time would be better spent spreading God's word. So he traded in his general issue gear and weapons for a clerical collar and bible.

Today was another typical Friday spent in the confession box. There were about five other priests with Bishop Mark who presided over their district. It was a day of listening to both men and women confess to adultery, as if confession allowed them to sin again. However, today, a particular child had come.

"Forgive me Father, for I have sinned," began Juste. He eyes were downcast, still in his school uniforms. "It has been two weeks since my last confession."

Gideon was familiar with Juste as he came to church often, more so when he was younger. He remembered hearing that Juste moved to Bucharest only a year before himself. Gideon immediately became friends with this boy, finding him sincere and honest. The other priests, though, refused to even come near him. Bishop Mark, the man at Juste's Confirmation, had to take a month of leave after the ceremony then avoided Juste like the plague.

"Our Holy Father is most forgiving," said Gideon, repeating the words he usually used with others.

"I have wrongly frightened Miss Belnades," said Juste, looking rather sullen. "Sometimes, I feel as if I'm not myself."

"You say that often."

"I know," admitted Juste. "I pray that God's love will protect me from the trials ahead, that his right hand will hold me fast."

"God's love is unfailing, never doubt that."

"I..." Juste paused, his hand clutching the edges of the confession bench most tightly. "Mister Gideon, you're the only one who will understand."

That had somewhat surprised the priest. It was well known between the two of them that Juste only confessed to Gideon, but it was never openly admitted by either of them.

"I know that my father is going to call Bishop Mark about my...condition," he said. "They will arrange a meeting together and...can you be there to vouch for me?"

"Now Juste, you don't have a condition."

"I do have a condition," said Juste adamantly. "I see things. I do things that others can't. What if they try exorcism?" He shuddered involuntarily. He had watched "The Exorcist" enough times to be worried. He did not want to end up like the poor girl who started to spit bile, turning her head in a circle. That looked all too painful.

"Juste, they won't try exorcism," reassured Gideon. "There's nothing wrong with you."

"Can you still be there? At least talk to my father before he sees Bishop Mark."

Gideon thought for a moment. Juste had always been the most sensible child. He played soccer, made good grades in school, and was probably one of the few children who even bothered to memorize scripture. Everyone who truly knew him had a lot of hope for him.

"Please? As my friend?"

"Alright Juste, but only this once."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mauricio was excited to see the legendary Julius Belmont. He had met him before, but always at a distance where his trainers and instructors would off-handedly point the man out. Even from far away, Mauricio could feel the overpowering aura of the vampire hunter. Julius was fearless, and had many friends in high places. Julius was the man Mauricio had aspired to be since the Oracles, prophets and auguries had pointed to him as the rightful heir to their holy task.

So despite the advice of his mentors, Mauricio hopped on a plane from Madrid to Bucharest. He did not have their phone-number but he did have an address. Besides, he was related to Julius, distantly, but related nonetheless. He wondered what type of man Julius really was. Did he live in some underground secret base with thousands of gadgets to fight against the darkness? Even with Dracula's spirit dormant, there were still many otherworldly evils that infested this plane. For Julius to fight well past his prime, surely he had to be one of the most skilled.

"Well, this is the right place," muttered Mauricio when he pulled up to the house. "666 Saint Andrew Ave."

In the yard out front were two children playing with a basketball. One was a small girl who dribbled the ball with two hands. The other was a boy who was trying to show the little girl how to throw the ball into a basket. Lining the large oak trees and driveways were low-growing wild lilacs and forget-me-nots. The scene sizzled slightly, suggestion a sophisticated type of holograph.

Mauricio nodded approvingly. The scene was perfectly domestic, a flawless disguise for the European Base against Evil.

"Why are you staring at my house?"

Mauricio almost jumped through the ceiling of his rental car. He turned to see a gangly albino teenager wearing full winter school uniform, standing not far from the back of his car.

"Oh, excuse me," recovered Mauricio quickly. He did a quick assessment of the teenager. He seemed perfectly harmless, another child pressured into studying all day and night. "How long have you been there?"

"Since you drove up."

"Jus!!!" cried the two who were in the driveway.

Mauricio's eyes went wide as the two children, not holograms, ran up to the teenager. Did he really come to Julius's house?

"Where did you go? We didn't see you after school," said Zach. "Sister Helen walked us home and we had to pass by that zombie lady's house. We were scared."

"Sorry. I needed reconciliation," said Juste.

The two younger children both muttered, "Oh" as if that explained it all.

"Well, excuse me," interrupted Mauricio, feeling a bit out of place. "But I'm looking for a Julius Belmont. I was told that this is his house."

Juste gazed at him for a moment. "You must be Mauricio. Our father has spoken about you."

Mauricio swallowed. So his own identity was no secret? Worse. Big bad Vampire Hunter, a loving parental figure? How come no one ever bother telling him important information like this. "Father?"

"Yes. Julius Belmont is our father. This is Erin and Zach. I'm Juste. Would you like to come in?"

----------------------------------------------------------------------

After some more introductions, Mauricio was led into the house. He sat on the black leather couch, staring at the silk imitation geraniums placed in a chrome vase in the corner. A yellow pot of lilacs fresh from the garden sat in the middle of a glass coffee table. The house was modern, with automatic blinds, a plasma flat-screen TV that took up the entire wall, and self-activated vacuum cleaner. Soft blue velvet cushions were at each available seat as well as cuddly white warming blankets.

So much for a bastian against the Darkness.

After he entered the house, the two younger children went upstairs for homework, leaving the eldest child to attend to guest.

"Would you like some dessert cookies and tea?" asked Juste, hefting a silver tray of delectables. "Cream and sugar?"

Mauricio nodded.

Moving like one of the busboys at a ritzy restaurant, Juste placed a cup of tea along with tiny pots of cream and sugar. "Here you go."

Mauricio silently sipped his tea. He was apprehensive for a while, dark eyes darting to Juste the entire time, looking for any sign of mischief. He felt even more suspicious as Juste drank his tea without comment. It was hard to believe that they were somehow related. Mauricio was tanned, with curly black hair and chocolate eyesa stark contrast to Juste, who was as white as a sheet with light brown eyes.

"So boy," began Mauricio. "Where are your parents?"

"Mum is at work. Pops is probably trying to get Bishop Mark to talk."

"Bishop Mark?"

"He's the bishop for the Bucharest diocese."

_"Churchgoers, huh?" _Faith seemed to play a role in their profession, although Mauricio never knew how much. One thing he knew for certain was that prayer truly calmed the nerves before attempting any ordeal. With that in mind, Mauricio changed the topic. "You don't look much like your siblings, or your father," he commented bluntly.

Juste shrugged. "They tell me that albinoism crops up in the family every once in a while. Aunt Gizelle said that I am one of those "once in a whiles.""

"And not something else?"

Juste tilted his head. "What are you trying to get at?"

Mauricio scrutinized Juste's face for a good while. The child looked rather deceptive when still in the gangly years of growth. But Mauricio had studied the history of vampire hunting enough to realize whom this boy was named for. "Do you know in the 18th century, there was a Juste Belmont?"

The boy nodded.

That was some big surprise. Not. "Well, if you ever get a chance to see your ancestral collections, you happen to look a lot alike the original Juste."

"Figures," said the present Juste, rolling his eyes. "Why can't they name me John or Michael? At least that would show some creativity."

At that response, Mauricio laughed. He liked the humor of this distant relative. But his laughter was short-lived as he noticed how Juste was sitting very still.

"Hey, What's..."

"Don't...move," said Juste, his lips barely moving. His eyes were focused on something past Mauricio. "Be strong and of a good courage," Juste muttered like a prayer, though he was visibly shaking. "be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed: for the LORD thy God is with thee whithersoever thou goest."

Mauricio raised an eyebrow. "What the hell..."

"DUCK!"

A knife flew from behind, whizzing past Mauricio's cheek, drawing blood. It flew toward Juste and his hand moved just in time to prevent a knife into his heart.

Mauricio turned just in time to see the transparent figure of a half torn child. It wore a blood-stained funeral smock, its eyeless face mutilated beyond recognition. Its emaciated body was full of healed burn scars, like a skeleton lathered in mud. Mauricio jumped up, pulled out the practice whip his parents had given him, and expertly swung the whip in the child's direction.

The child laughed as the whip went through its form, tearing away bits of flesh, into the bones. Before Mauricio could utter a word though, the child disappeared, leaving only its crimson footprints and echoes of laughter.

Juste was still shaking but he steadied his hand before long. He gently placed the knife down on the coffee table. It was a stainless steel knife, serrated for chopping vegetables. "Well, that hasn't happened in a while," he said, taking a deep breath and swallowing.

"What in the name of Jesus Christ is that!?" demanded Mauricio. He had met with zombies, reanimated cadavers, skeletons, but never a ghost child.

"This house is haunted," explained Juste evenly while whispering well-known verse in between. "Normally they don't come downstairs when adults are around. I guess today is just the exception." Juste rubbed his temples, as if suddenly feeling a bad headache. "You should leave now."

"Who…no _what_ are you really?" Mauricio held up his weapon. He was glad that he brought along a cross and a rosario.

"Those things don't work here," came another voice from the stairs. It was Zach, the younger brother, holding his younger sister Erin tight. "We've tried." Erin, he noticed, had her eyes shut tight. Behind him, crouching upside down on the walls like spiders were two children. One was faceless, the other so adorable that it was frightening.

"GO!" said Juste. "Before they lock the doors."

Mauricio had half a mind to reject, but he decided at the last minute to get out while he could. He ran to the door, only to hear the dead-bolt turn on its own.

One of the children, the adorable one, was behind him now. It looked at him with sightless eyes, blood flowing down its cheeks. Then it smiled, revealing how its mouth was cut from ear to ear. In one hand was a poker, a dull-looking thing from the fire place. It opened its mouth.

"Would you like a smile like mine too? Hehe?"

Mauricio could not escape until two hours later.

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Yvette drove home in her economical little hybrid corvette. The cool evening wind felt good in her hair. Next to her, on the passenger seat, was take-home Chinese dinner. She frowned upon the new tire-streak marks on the road in front of her drive way. Must be the neighbor's teenage son trying to learn how to drive, emphasis on the word "trying." Too bad they did not have her son; he could do almost anything perfectly the first time around.

"Kids, I'm home," called out Yvette as she entered the house and removed her three-inch heels. Today was another long and good day at work, but her toes were rather painful from the amount of standing she had to endure.

"Mommy is home!" screamed Erin from upstairs. She thundered down, and gave her mother a tight hug.

Yvett kissed her daughter's cheek. "Hey sweetie. How was school?"

"It was good. We drew pictures but Sister Helen didn't like my pictures. Oh! Sister Helen also taught us how to make baskets!"

Yvette frowned upon that. She didn't send her children to private school to learn basket weaving. "I see."

Erin kept on talking about the things that happened at school while Yvette carried the take-out Chinese to the table. She raised an eyebrow as she saw Zach and Juste on their knees with rags in the kitchen; they were mopping up something red with skin-colored flakes.

"What happened here?" Yvette asked.

"I spilled a can of tomato soup," explained Juste blandly as he stood up. His face was flushed a deep-red as if he was sunburned. And he had trouble keeping his eyes open. "I wasn't feeling well and we were out of chicken noodle soup."

"Oh dear," sighed Yvette. She stepped over the spill and placed a hand on Juste's forehead. "Baby! You're burning up!"

Juste gave his mother a rueful smile. "Tell me something I don't know."

"Well, go take some medicine and have a bit of dinner, then go to bed. I'll fix up some REAL chicken noodle soup. You too Zach, Erin."

At her orders, the children dispersed around the take-out Chinese food. They did not necessarily like Chinese food, but it was almost nine at night and they were not prone to complaining.

Yvette picked up the rags and proceeded to wipe up the mess. This was some truly thick tomato soup. And she came to a really odd flat piece of noodle and had to look at it for a long time. It was a noodle with curly nappy hairs though it. Yvette imagined some factory worker's arm-pit hair falling into the big vat of preserved soup. The grossness of it made her want to hurl.

"Grrr. Stupid American brand processed food. I will never buy Campbell soup again!"

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AN: You know how you're supposed to stock up on canned food in case some natural disaster came roaring through your state, taking out the power for a week and ruining your beer stash? Well, I found something really weird in my canned food! 


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